


Fear of Falling

by iavenjqasdf, starduster



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: M/M, stupid fluffy-ass nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4209381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iavenjqasdf/pseuds/iavenjqasdf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starduster/pseuds/starduster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inigo's afraid of flying; Gerome offers to help him out.  It doesn't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear of Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Collab with iavenjqasdf on tumblr!

It had been another typically unsuccessful night of bar-hopping, Inigo fumbling slightly as he undid the flap to the tent before practically falling face-first onto his bed. Gerome followed closely behind, with deliberate slowness, hoping to conceal just how much he’d had to drink. He sat down with a heavy exhale, prying the mask from his too-warm face and running his fingers through his hair. At least he didn’t have to carry his companion back again, as was sometimes the case after nights like this.

 

He was starting to suspect that these nights out with Inigo were more of an excuse to be around him than an honest attempt at getting some action, but he held his tongue. Though he wouldn’t admit it, being forced out of his comfort zone like this near-nightly had really improved his general attitude; he found himself opening up in small ways to his allies, replying with words rather than grumbles to their queries, and they, in turn, had quickly warmed up to his newfound camaraderie.. It was worth these drunken misadventures to see the others’ spirits improve, especially in trying times such as these. It gave him the tiniest glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t fighting in vain.

 

Inigo let out a low moan as he flopped onto his back, staring dazedly at the ceiling.

 

“Gerome?” he mumbled, his voice almost lost in the deafening chirps of crickets outside. Gods, why did they have to be so damned LOUD? Gerome wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his soft bed and sleep, but he still had armor to polish and a wyvern to feed.

 

“What is it?” he finally replied, leaning forward and clasping his uncovered face in his hand. The first time he had removed his mask around Inigo, he failed to see what the big deal was. Maybe the fact that it was so undramatic showed how much he had bonded with the idiot, how he trusted him to see what few others did without calling attention to it. Or maybe he was just really drunk and forgot he no longer slept alone. Either was a possibility.

 

“Gerooome… whass'it like to fly…? Dontcha ever get scared, of bein’ so high up?” he slurred, in too much of a stupor to realize how annoying his speech sounded, and the subject of his questioning in too similar a position to remark upon it.

 

“Minerva and I trust each other. Even if I were to fall, she would catch me before I hit the ground. I have nothing to fear.” He decided to have some fun with the dancer. "What's wrong, you scared or something?" he teased, expecting a giggled denial, perhaps a pillow to the face.

 

"Oh, gods, yes!" Inigo exclaimed, much to his chagrin. He prayed no one heard that out of context. It wasn't like the wannabe Casanova to so readily admit to weaknesses. Or was he simply playing along? "Like... I can't even look out the windows when we're high up in the palace. I- I just get dizzy and..." his voice trailed off with a waver. Nope, he definitely was not playing. Was he crying?

 

Gerome sighed. He had initially agreed to go out like this with Inigo to get him to STOP sobbing, and look where that got him. He didn't need this right now. "Look, I'm going to practice flying with Minerva tomorrow. You can ride with me, you'll see there's nothing to be scared of," he suggested, figuring it would be the quickest way to shut the crybaby up before he woke the entire camp with his weeping.

 

Inigo looked up, his face suddenly bright and cheery again. "Do- do you really mean that?" he asked, sniffling softly against his sleeve. His eyes brimmed with tears, but they shone with a burning enthusiasm that flew right over the tipsy wyvern rider's head as he staggered to his feet.

 

"Yeah, sure. I have to go give Minervykins her dinner now. Go to sleep," the rider replied as he shuffled out of the tent, hoping the matter would be forgotten come morning.

 

\---

 

His eyes pressed shut under his mask, wishing someone would stick a spear into his skull, anything to relieve the throbbing pressure building inside it. Breakfast couldn't come soon enough; having something to eat usually helped relieve the physical pains a night on the town brought on. He felt a hand tug at his cape, and instinctively slapped it away, ready to growl a threat at whoever risked tearing it, before turning and seeing it was none other than Inigo.

 

"Hey, Gerome! Remember what you were saying last night, about letting me ride you?" he asked, his voice loud enough to cause a lull in the nearby murmuring. Gerome REALLY wished for something sharp in his head right now. Did the twerp have any idea what that sounded like to others?!

 

"Ride WITH me on Minerva, you mean?" he replied through gritted teeth, emphasizing the wyvern's name, hoping to reduce the awkward stares he felt burning at his armor and get a hint through the idiot's thick skull. At least one of those goals had been accomplished, judging by how the din of conversation from the Shepherds around them resumed. He had caught wind of some… tawdry rumors swirling amongst the more gossipy types about the exact nature of his relationship with Inigo, about their nighttime activities and the hushed giggles deep into the night ever since they started sharing a tent, and Inigo's often horrible choice of words did nothing but add fuel to the fire.

 

"Yeah, that! I'm training until lunch, but after that, I have the rest of the day open, so let's go!" The dancer exclaimed joyously, practically leaping in place like an excited child. For someone who claimed to be so scared of heights, he sure seemed eager to go flying...

 

"We'll discuss it after breakfast." Gerome declared, trying to turn his back and disappear into the crowd, but he walked into the back of another man in front of him, who remained oblivious to the disruption. He settled for staring dead ahead a few feet from the dancer he was trying to escape, hoping Brady would hurry up and open the mess hall before his burning embarrassment set something ablaze.

 

\---

 

After the meal, which he wolfed down in record speed, he attempted to steal away to his tent, wishing to escape before Inigo realized he was gone and gave chase. He may as well have wished for a pot of gold to appear before him for all the good that did him. He heard the whelp before he saw him, heard him panting and calling his name as he gave chase. Gerome muttered another silent curse, knowing he'd been spotted, but continuing to walk, as if he somehow failed to notice the overly enthusiastic shrieking quickly heading his way.

 

His patience wearing ever thinner, he spoke as soon as Inigo had caught up to him. "Look, I didn't think you'd take me up on my offer last night, but if you really want to go flying, you have to let me concentrate. I need to practice and get her ready for another passenger, and if you keep interrupting me, she's going to bite your pretty little head off before you can so much as set a finger on her."

 

Inigo was momentarily stunned by Gerome's bluntness, but the (admittedly cool) scar on his arm reminded him the wyvern was capable of much worse. "All right, I’ll leave you be, but you gotta keep your promise. After lunch, I'll meet you at her pen and we'll take her for a spin, right?"

 

"Minerva isn't some fairground pony ride you can take a ‘spin’ on. She can rip a full-grown deer to shreds for a snack, and I trust her with my life regularly on the battlefield. So start showing some respect towards her." Gerome snapped. Inigo flinched again. He was starting to consider if the whole thing was worth it, but he steeled his resolve. If he kept getting woozy at so much as the thought of being above the ground, he'd be useless if the war campaign ever took them to, say, the mountains, or perhaps the top of a particularly menacing staircase.

 

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I'll try to be more respectful towards your dragon."

 

"She's a WYVERN." Gerome hissed, and stomped off. Even Inigo could recognize following and trying to apologize again would just dig him deeper, so he held his tongue and retreated to the training grounds, hoping some sparring would knock some sense into him, or at least clear his mind for that afternoon.

 

\---

 

Inigo's mind started wandering again as he left the mess tent towards the wyvern pens. Gerome had spent lunch with Minerva, probably too busy pampering her to feed himself. Inigo just hoped he wasn't eating WITH her, though he wouldn't put it past the man to spoon feed the beast, perhaps sampling some of the delicious carrion for himself... He shook the thought from his mind. But why was he so excited about the thought of spending the afternoon flying? Wasn't this supposed to terrify him?

 

It felt odd to think, but there was something about Gerome that put him at ease, despite the man's general uneasiness. They had grown more friendly with each other, almost tender at times. Inigo knew he was possibly the only person alive to see Gerome without his mask, and he, in turn, would occasionally expose himself too, spilling his dreams and fears to the redhead as they would lay together, unable to fall asleep after a particularly rowdy night out. Gerome had even confided that he knew of Inigo's secret; that he snuck from the camp to practice dancing. Inigo had been mortified to hear of this, of course, but rather than a vicious teasing or threat of blackmail, he was wholly surprised to hear that Gerome liked watching him, along with Minerva. Between their nights on the town, and the ones when he would silently watch Inigo dance, they were spending almost every evening in each others' company.

 

He arrived to find Gerome fitting another saddle onto Minerva, and when he heard Inigo approaching he nodded at a nearby table where had prepared another, smaller pair of riding gloves and boots. He finished his preparations as the dancer suited up, and hoisted himself aboard his place in the front, before extending a hand to help Inigo up. Inigo wasn't fully prepared for the strength behind Georme's pull, and he nearly flew over the wyvern, before grabbing onto his saddle and scrambling into a sitting position, trying his hardest not to let an awry kick land on the reptile's glistening scales. He was quite fond of his feet, and was glad the creature had been fed well enough to let him keep both while he found purchase. Perhaps she was smart enough to know his graceful dances that she enjoyed watching wouldn't be the same with him hopping around on one leg.

 

"Ready to go?" Gerome asked, a hasty nod from behind his answer. He grabbed the reins in both hands and shouted a command, and Minerva lumbered out of her pen, shaking the ground with each thundering step of her muscular legs. Gerome turned to face Inigo, and gave him a final warning. "Once we're in the air, we're not coming down until I say so, unless you feel like jumping. If you're considering chickening out, now would be your last chance to do just that."

 

Inigo's guts twisted themselves into a knot. What was he doing? The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass himself by bawling in terror like a baby, or worse yet, losing his lunch all over Gerome's cape (he wasn't sure he'd let him survive that, and doubted he'd want to anyway). Yet Gerome's words felt more like a challenge to him. He wasn't about to admit he was a chicken, and he knew if he got off now, he'd likely never get another chance to do something like this. "I'll be fine. Let's do this." Gerome shrugged, as if to say "if you say so", and with a yell he whipped the reins down and the wyvern charged forward, much faster than Inigo had anticipated. His hands scrambled for something to hold on to, and Gerome's waist was the first thing they found, latching on for dear life. After building up enough momentum, they leapt off the ground, and with a surge of Minerva's powerful wings, they were aloft.

 

Inigo squeezed his eyes shut, tears of joy and terror streaming down his cheeks as he held on tight, uttering prayers that he wouldn't lose his grip. By the time he gathered the courage to peek an eye open, they were hundreds of feet above the ground, the camp fading quickly into the distance behind them as they soared through the air. Groves of trees whipped by below, splotches of green paint dabbled upon the lighter ground, and tiny pinpricks that he guessed were wild animals of some sort darted about beneath them. A bubbling brook gleamed in the sun ahead of them, a thin blue line streaking across the landscape.

 

Gerome concerned himself less with the scenery and more with keeping his composure. It wasn't Minerva he was worried about, either. He was very, very aware of Inigo’s arms looped around his torso in a vise grip, of the dancer’s warm body pressed tightly against his, of his raucous laughter carrying through the wind whipping around them. He even detected the faintest hint of the scent of flowers. Perfume? His own fingers tightened around Minerva’s reins as the smaller man shifted behind him, the closeness almost too much, too intimate.

 

Above the roar of the wind he heard Inigo shouting something, but the words were torn away, left hanging in the air behind them. He tried to turn his head to hear what he was saying, but Inigo beat him to the punch, tucking his chin close to Gerome’s ear. A crimson blush spread beneath his mask as he felt the silver hair billowing around him, and for the millionth time since they had met, he was grateful for the flimsy barrier.

 

“I SAID,” Inigo yelled, still barely audible despite the closeness of their faces, “THIS IS INCREDIBLE!” His fingers dug into the fabric of Gerome’s shirt, who wondered for a moment if he was doing that on purpose. Minerva suddenly lurched downward, having spotted the trail of a rabbit from high in the air. Inigo yelped, burying his face in Gerome’s neck as terrified laughter bubbled out of him. A sharp yank of her reins pulled Minerva up from her dive, a disappointed grumble emanating from her throat as she was kept from her in-flight meal.

 

“Are you alright?” Gerome hollered back, turning his head once again to find Inigo very, very close. Close enough that when Minerva hit an updraft and threw them further up into the air, their faces bumped together momentarily, and Gerome felt the softness of the dancer’s lips press innocently against his burning cheek.

 

His mind stuttered, unable to find any words, but Inigo seemed to have plenty to spare. “I'm sorry! S-sorry, I didn’t mean to ki-- hit your face or anything, I…” His voice tapered off to an embarrassed squeak, and he hid his own blushing face in Gerome’s cape. “I mean, this- this is amazing, but I think I’m getting dizzy. Can we please land for a while?”

 

Forcing down the anxiety that burned its way up his throat, Gerome nodded, eyes scanning the horizon for an open area to land. He saw the lights of a town in the distance, but decided it was too long a flight away to ask his panicking passenger to wait, so he settled for a clearing at the edge of a small creek not too far ahead. A pair of elk drank from the clear waters, bugling and charging off into the woods upon hearing Minerva’s shrieking approach.

 

Heavy wingbeats slowed them as Minerva came in to land, and Gerome braced himself for the ever-familiar impact as the wyvern’s claws slammed into the ground, dragging massive gashes in the earth as she brought herself to a halt a few yards from the water. Inigo breathed a sigh of relief, his death grip on Gerome's waist loosening slightly, but he made no move to slide off the saddle.

 

“I’m sorry about... what just happened” he mumbled, his face never surfacing from the dark fabric of the pilot’s cape. “I didn’t mean- I didn't think I was going to- Aghh, I'm sorry...”

 

Gerome swallowed heavily, keeping as still as he could to avoid startling his passenger.  “Don't worry. Accidents happen.” he tried consoling, relieved when Inigo’s arms hesitantly uncaged him at last as the man finally slipped off the saddle. His debarking was less graceful than likely intended, as he lost his footing and tumbled headfirst into the lush grass, which was soft enough to break his fall.

 

“Shit,” he grumbled, staggering to his feet and steadying himself against Minerva’s flank.  He tried to brush himself off with shaky hands, and wobbled off towards the creek on unsteady legs. “Wow,” he marveled, nearly tripping over his own feet again. “How can you walk straight after that?”

 

"It takes time. I asked the same thing the first time I went flying with my mother." Gerome replied, slipping out of his own saddle and landing with a practiced grace on both feet, patting Minerva on the neck as he strode to catch up with the dancer.

 

Inigo knelt by the stream, splashing the cold water on his face to try and regain his composure. They were much too far away from the camp to walk back, but he needed a breather before they could fly again. It truly had been a thrill, but the flutter he felt in his heart when Gerome crouched by him and cautiously placed a gloved hand on his shoulder told him that wasn’t the only reason he was so excited.

 

A million thoughts scampered through Gerome’s brain as Inigo turned to look at him, and his heart clenched anxiously in his chest as he gazed into his eyes, mere inches separating them.

 

“What is it?" Inigo asked, his voice almost a whisper, the beginnings of concerned frown marring his usually cheery visage. “Are you-”

 

Gerome lunged forward, hands grasping Inigo’s shoulders as he held him close, kissing him clumsily, latching onto his mouth with such ferocity that he knocked the breath out of the smaller man. Inigo tensed under his grasp, arms held motionlessly in the air, as if he couldn’t decide whether to embrace Gerome or shove him away. Panic struck him, and Gerome retreated, shuffling backwards as quickly as he had come, face burning like the surface of the sun. Inigo followed him with his eyes, mouth hanging agape but silent.

 

“Gerome, I…” he finally started, but his voice trailed off just as quickly as Gerome hastily turned and strode back towards Minerva.

 

“I apologize. That was uncalled for,” Gerome said curtly, adjusting the wyvern’s tack with trembling hands, not trusting himself to let them idle again. “Please forget it ever happened." Please. There was a moment of silence before he heard slow footfalls from behind.

 

“Will you at least look at me?” Inigo murmured, a hint of something in his voice Gerome couldn't quite place. Apprehension? Anger? Longing?

 

Gerome’s fingers tightened around the reins before letting go. To his dismay, Minerva, his one constant in this storm of uncertainty, tromped off towards the creek, and the sound of her happily splashing in the shallow water cut through the silence like a knife. Swallowing hard, he turned to face Inigo, and he was...

 

Inigo was smiling. Beaming, even. “I was wondering when you were finally going to make a move,” Inigo remarked cheekily, trying to put on an air of irreverence, but Gerome saw through the goofy grin, knew he was trying his damnedest to keep his excitement in check. “And I thought I was bad with romance...”

 

Gerome’s heart lurched as Inigo approached him, and as if of its own accord, his hand came to rest on Inigo’s rosy cheek as the distance between them closed. This kiss was softer, much more in-control than Gerome’s clumsy previous attempt, and he felt Inigo trembling with elation against his skin. The dancer’s arms wrapped loosely around his chest. Gerome wasn't sure what to do with his other hand, so he placed it gently against the small of Inigo’s back, and a shiver ran through him when he Inigo sighed pleasurably against his lips.

 

Inigo pulled back, his smile just as bright, just as stunning, and he giggled at the flustered look on Gerome’s face. He lifted his arms, and with shaking fingers untied the leather thong that secured the mask against Gerome’s face, letting the warm metal slip off, tossing it into the grass. “Much better,” he murmured, letting his fingers play over the newly exposed skin. Gerome couldn’t help the smile that cracked his stoic countenance.

 

“I’d always wondered if your insistence I be your wingman was just a ploy to be near me,” Gerome said, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Inigo’s, letting his arms hold his body close.

 

“It was about the girls at first,” Inigo confessed, feeling blood seep into his cheeks and dropping his head onto Gerome’s shoulder meekly. “But I wound up liking the chance to spend time with you. You didn’t make fun of me when I never had any luck. You’d drag me home when I was drunk and crying all over the place, and you were really good looking when I was drunk and crying all over the place, and…”  his voice trailed off, his fingers plucking idly at the fabric of Gerome’s shirt. “I’m just really happy around you. I don’t really know what it is, or what I’m doing, but I’m happy.”

 

Inigo lifted his head and kissed him again, pressing their bodies together a bit harder, hands searching for occupation. Gerome sighed against him, a tiny noise of surprise escaping his lips when Inigo’s fingers snaked up under his shirt, skating over his muscular back.

  
“What are you…?” He pulled back to shoot a startled look at Inigo, but Inigo chased his lips, throwing kisses wherever he could reach.  

 

“I want you,” Inigo pleads, voice hoarse with lust. “I don’t know, I’m just… I’m really horny.” He finally spat out, and immediately laughed at how ridiculous that sounded. Gerome couldn’t help but chuckle quietly with him.

 

Moments passed as they clung to each other. Gerome finally broke the silence. “So… do you want me to-?”

 

“N-no! I mean, yes, but not all the way!” Inigo sputtered. “I can’t go back like this…” He ground forward, and Gerome felt Inigo’s half-hardness pressed urgently against his thigh. He muttered a curse, and Inigo let out a sheepish laugh at the reaction he was able to generate. “Yeah…”

 

The next few moments were a blur; before he realized it, Inigo was on his back in the grass and Gerome was pinning him down, their lips crashing together as Gerome, emboldened by Inigo’s uncharacteristic forwardness, ground down on him. Inigo moaned against him and clung tightly to him, tangling his legs with Gerome in a desperate attempt to get a better angle, more friction. His fingers knotted in Gerome’s hair, and Gerome growled hungrily against his lips with every inadvertent tug.

 

They were too wrapped up in each other and the pleasure coursing through their bodies to take notice of Minerva splashing through the creek, nor her stomping out of the water towards them.

 

They did, however, notice when the wyvern, proud of her catch and eager to share, dropped a mouthful of freezing water and flopping trout atop their tangled bodies.

 

Inigo shrieked as he scrambled away from the torrent of water and fish, a booted foot catching Gerome squarely in the gut in his haste to flee. Gerome sputtered in the freezing torrent as he curled up in pain, watching the fish flop helplessly on the grass as Minerva snatched one up and tossed it down her throat with a gleeful growl.

 

“M...Minerva…” Gerome groaned, reaching out and patting the wyvern weakly on the side as she eagerly gobbled down her catch. “That was… very kind of you.”

 

“A-are you okay?!” Inigo called, rushing back over to Gerome, water dripping from his soaked clothes. “I kicked you, didn’t I? Shit! I’m so sorry...” He crouched next to him, unsure of what to do next.

 

Gerome sighed. “Yes. You kick very hard, you know.” Another exasperated sigh, the mood long gone.

 

“Er, Gerome?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m... not horny anymore.” Inigo grinned sheepishly, helping him to his feet. “Minerva took care of that pretty well.”

 

Gerome’s face was a brilliant scarlet, redder than he ever thought possible, as he readjusted Minerva’s tack that had come loose during her little fishing trip. “I-I apologize,” he mumbled, hiding his face and focusing intently on the task at hand. Inigo just laughed again, his cheery voice echoing through the trees as he grabbed Gerome by the shoulder and turned him around to chastely kiss the drops of water from his lips.

 

“There’s no need to play shy anymore. We’ll just have to do it without Minervykins around next time,” he teased, curling his arms lazily around Gerome’s neck. “Like... in a bed... somewhere.” He waggled his eyebrows ridiculously in a futile attempt at seduction.

 

Gerome chuckled, helping him climb aboard Minerva. "Alright, I think it's about time to head back to camp. You ready?"

 

Inigo nodded and rested his head gently against Gerome's soggy cape, before sitting up with a start. "Wait! You almost forgot!" he slipped, quite literally, out of the saddle, landing in the grass again as he searched for something. He returned as quickly as he had left, and Gerome felt the familiar metal of his mask draped across his face as Inigo set to work on the straps to tie it back on.

 

“Inigo… wait.” he grunted, and slipped the mask off his face and into his pocket, and without another word they took off.

 

\---

 

A thousand feet up in the air, wind rushing through their hair and with his chin tucked into the crook of Gerome’s neck, Inigo smiled and pressed another gentle little kiss against the curve of Gerome’s jaw.  He saw the blush rise, as if on cue, on his cheeks. He really was handsome without half his face covered.

 

“I’m glad you took me flying,” Inigo shouted above the roar of the wind. “I’m not scared anymore, with my big, brave pilot ready to grab me with his strong, manly hands if I should fall off his lizard.” Inigo could practically feel Gerome scowling, but there was a hint of good-naturedness hidden beneath it.

 

“You’re lucky Minerva likes you and your dancing, or she’d have thrown you off long ago.”

 

Inigo snorted, kicking his legs absentmindedly against Minerva’s flanks. “What, is Minerva part of our relationship now? Is she going to be the best ma- er, wyvern at our wedding? We’d have to host it at a pretty wide church...”

 

Gerome just sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. But he couldn’t deny the way his heart throbbed in his chest at the knowledge that his feelings, buried for so long beneath layers of chilly indifference and denial, were reciprocated.

 

For a moment, he almost thought he’d made a good decision. Then Inigo very nearly slipped off his saddle in an attempt to pluck a twig from his boot, crying out and clutching for dear life to Gerome’s cape, nearly strangling his newfound lover as he attempted to hoist himself back onto the seat.

 

Gerome let out another heavy sigh as he banked Minerva to give Inigo a better angle.

 

_What have I gotten myself into?_

 

 


End file.
